


The Red Tie That Binds

by CinnaStarks, SoWrongButSoWrite (CinnaStarks)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Estrangement, Friends of Red Jenny, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-16 18:44:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3498938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnaStarks/pseuds/CinnaStarks, https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnaStarks/pseuds/SoWrongButSoWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The eldest Rutherford sold dresses,<br/>The second Rutherford led,<br/>The third Rutherford lost his right foot,<br/>And the youngest befriended Red.</p><p>(Names are from World of Thedas V2)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

One day at Skyhold is all it takes.

They are sitting at the ruined tavern after some of Cullen’s soldiers dragged him there for “working himself silly.” Of course, the only stool left had to be the one next to an elf who makes a living from undermining all authority, including his own.

“Never thought I’d be workin’ with another Rutherford.” She takes a swig from her tankard, oblivious to the dumbfounded glare he is sending her way. “Let alone my ex best mate’s brother.” Another sip, but this one is choked on. Blue eyes widen into saucers. “Shit.”

“Sera?” Cullen is too exhausted to even attempt a threatening tone.

The elf looks around the decrepit tavern and he wonders if she is planning an escape where there is none. “Not somethin’ I can talk about here. Probably said too much already.” Sera nods her head towards the exit. “Business.” Which can mean only one thing. His stomach turns, but he follows her out anyway.

“What have your Friends done to my family?” Cullen hears the echo of his own growl echo off of the walls of the corner Sera found. She rolls her eyes. “Tell me!”

“Don’t get your knickers in a bunch, Cully.” Her words are joking but her gaze never leaves the sword still nestled in its sheath. “Red Jenny has done nothin’ to the Rutherford clan except make the mistake of letting one of those self-righteous dangle bags join us.”

Calloused fingers dance across the pommel. “Which one?” But he knows the answer too well. Mia has children and an attitude even he knows would clash with Sera’s. Branson’s right foot has been useless since the Blight.

“Rosalie.” Her name is one that Mia has left out of almost every letter Cullen has received since the Blight. Now, he knows why. “We met after I saw her knock out a prick twice her size with just that spindly body of hers. It had been maybe a year since the Blight, so she was still pissed at the world for taking her parents away.” The reminder hurts his heart and she knows it. “They were yours, too. Sorry.”

Cullen can only shake his head. His parents’ death is a chest he knows would only make matters worse if opened. Lyrium once kept it locked, but now he has to force himself not to pry the thing open. “She’s a Friend?” He monotones.

“Was.” Sera looks up at the sky’s blue scar. “Rosa went mad after the Conclave exploded. Said it felt like the Maker slapping her across the face with reality or some horseshit like that, it doesn’t matter. All that matters to me is that she left us.” Fear has contorted itself into pure disgust. “For what, I don’t fuckin’ know. She’s not with Mia, that woman kicked her out two years ago after discovering her involvement with us.”

“And my brother?”

“Knew about Red Jenny from the very start. Supplied both of us with the most potent poisons this side of Orlais, but he hasn’t seen Rosa since our last operation.” Her skin’s sudden pallor betrays the scowl she wears. “Someone would have contacted me if she turned herself in.” Blue meets hazel. “Right?”

Lyrium took his sister’s face away years ago, but not her curls. He can still see that same tangled mess of yellow that their fine-haired siblings would tease them for. A sword cuts through them. Blood spla- “Right.” He shakes the vision away.

Sera slumps against the stone wall. “She blames you for their death.” It’s a blunt pain he has seen coming for too long.

“I’m sure she does.” Cullen sighs. “Thank you, Sera, for letting me know what my sister has been doing. If it is alright with you, I will speak to Leliana about this. Perhaps she’ll be able to give us both some closure.”

* * *

One month is all it takes.

Cullen’s messenger drops a letter sealed with the Fereldan royal crest onto his desk. “From his majesty, the King of Fereldan, Commander. Sister Leliana has requested that you read it as soon as possible.”

“I appreciate it. You are dismissed.” He gives the timid dwarf a slight nod before she leaves. The red seal is broken with stumbling fingers as soon as he knows she is beyond earshot.

 

_Old friend,_

_It has been quite some time since we last spoke and even longer since I last called you a friend. Kind of hard to consider someone friendly if they believe your wife shouldn’t be treated like a normal person, don’t you think? From what Sister Leliana has told me, however, it seems you are turning back into the boy I once knew. Good to hear._

_Pleasantries aside, I understand that you are curious as to where your little sister has been hiding since the Conclave. Worry no more, for I have the solution to all your problems. Little Rosalie Rutherford ran all the way to my palace to turn herself in and, had I not heard her last name, this letter would be much more somber. I did, though, and I knew from the second she opened her mouth that she would not be leaving Denerim in a coffin._

_She’s just like you, if you weren’t as religious and couldn’t handle a proper sword to save your life. Still, just like you. Your eyes, your curls, and Maker’s breath, her strength. What was your mother, a Qunari? And yet, as soon as she has nothing to fight, she becomes as insecure as a Halla fawn. Can’t count the times she has fallen over apologizing for silly little mistakes. I swear, it’s like living with you all over again._

_I’ve made her my personal retainer for when duty calls me to places that the guards cannot follow. Tensions are running high in Denerim and I need her keen senses. Rosalie’s skills would be better put to use with the Inquisition, but she has made it clear that a reunion would not be in either of your best interests. By that, I mean stabbing. Lots of stabbing._

_Again, it is more than comforting to hear about the person you’ve turned into these days. From one former Templar to another, I’m proud of you._

_Stay strong,_

_Alistair_

 

He could give into the emotions that light his conscience ablaze, but he does not. Duty carries him to Sera’s loft.

One look is all it takes.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. The First Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair learns that Cullen was not the only Rutherford to be twisted by the Blight. Takes place before Chapter 1.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jumping around the timeline a bit, thanks to a particularly rabid plot bunny. I wanted to delve a bit more into Alistair’s relationship with Cullen as well as Ella’s motivations behind joining the Friends.

Rosalie Rutherford is twenty-seven and yet, Alistair cannot shake the urge to protect her as he would a child. She sits opposite him in the carriage, rendering it impossible not to stare at the way her fingers toy with curls that he knows too well. “Do you think they noticed, Your Majesty?” Her eyes lie far from his gaze. 

  
“No, but I did.” Hazel flits to blue. “Can’t say I expected someone with your discipline to nearly pounce on a noble for joking about Darkspawn,-“ Muscles tense. “-but it does not make me think any less of you, Serah.” She does not relax. “I understand that only your siblings made it out of the Blight alive.”

  
“You would be correct, ser. My parents distracted two hurlocks so that the rest of us could escape our farmhouse.” Rosalie’s voice is monotonous as if she rehearsed this story multiple times over. 

  
“And?” He knows that venturing into this territory with a woman who has killed more nobles than the average Crow is as stupid as it is risky. Pardoning her in the first place was an even less rational move, however, and Alistair figures that a question cannot make things worse. “Victims of these incidents usually become a Warden, not a Friend.”

  
Eyes narrow into slits, but her hands make no movement to the daggers he knows are hidden within her skirt. “A Bann and his wife, both were armed to the teeth.” She blinks. “I begged them to help my family. Branson and Mia told me not to, but I thought there was hope.” Flesh and bone twist into a grimace that Alistair has not seen since Kinloch Hold. “If you had seen the look of pity in their eyes, you would understand why I swore never to let something like that happen again.” Each syllable drips with the same amount of wrath that Cullen’s last words to him did so long ago.

  
Silence takes them miles forward. Alistair allows his tired head to fall into his hands.

  
“He could have saved them.” She whispers.

  
“He could have saved a lot of people-“ Calloused fingers find graying hair. “-himself, included.”

  
And yet, as they speak, that man commands their only hope for a better world. Of all the military leaders in Thedas, Seeker Cassandra picked a boy who grew into a scarred monster. The thought does not brighten the dimming light at the end of the tunnel. Leliana’s involvement does not help matters. She saw him in the Tower. She was there at his maddest. She was-

  
_SQUAWK_

_  
_ Rosalie Rutherford swats at the raven that has managed to swoop inside their carriage, but the bird still finds its way to the king’s right knee.“How in the-“

  
“Leliana.” Alistair says as he unties the letter from its foot. “My old friend has her ways. For sanity’s sake, I choose not to question them.” 

  
_Alistair,_

__  
Commander Cullen Stanton Rutherford is not the same man you met in Kinloch Hold.  
_I am not going to repeat all of this man’s misdeeds, I think you know them very well. What you do not know, however, is how much he has changed. To put it simply, Cullen is no longer a Templar. That statement alone should carry enough weight for you to understand but, in case Morrigan was right about your dimness; I will explain it further._  
_Our Inquisitor, as you may have already heard, is a Dalish First. Dalish Firsts are mages. According to the Inquisition’s herbalist,  she has played chess with him in the garden three times since we arrived at Skyhold. In her words, they “looked as if they had known each other for years.” Ten years ago, I believe he would have sooner stabbed her. To make matters even more fascinating, there are even rumors of a romantic connection between the two. Sounds familiar, no? But I digress._  
_Cullen has also given up lyrium. You never took it, but we have both met our fair share of addicts. Seeker Cassandra believes he can persevere. Though I trust her judgment, I cannot imagine the pain Cullen must be going through. He never falters when his command is needed. I see him cringe, and I see his hands shake, but he never gives into it._  
_With all that being said, I hope you are willing to aid me in my search for his younger sister, Rosalie. Prior to the Conclave, she was involved with the Friends of Red Jenny. According to a former partner of hers, she left to turn herself in after the explosion. My agents have heard rumors of her pardoning, but I do not wish to give Cullen false hope. Your confirmation that she is either alive or dead would be much appreciated._

__  
Maker be with you,  
_Leliana_

_  
_ Alistair blinks.

  
That doesn’t stop the tear from falling nor Rosalie from seeing it. 

  
“Are you-“

  
“Yes.” He breathes for the first time in what feels like ages. “Yes, I am.”


	3. Chapter 3

Cullen has been waiting at the gates for hours when Sera appears by his side.

“Been talkin’ to that Champion lately."

"Of course you have.” Though his gaze does not leave the horizon, she is visible enough in his perfery. "I bet you two get along quite well.“

Sera shrugs. "Hawke’s alright, I guess. Can’t see why lil’ miss Seeker would want to kiss the ground she walks on, though, because I’ve met Qunari who tell better jokes.” As if that were why. “She did tell me a good bit about you, though.”

At that one sentence, Cullen wants to find an excuse to leave. His blood curdles. “I am sure she did.” Words push themselves through his clenched jaw. “Anything of note?”

“Calm your pauldrons, it wasn’t anything I’d shoot you for.” Sera slumps against the stone wall. “Just interestin’, seein’ how your sister was the exact same way towards Fereldan nobility."

Muscles he did not know were tense in the first place relax at Rosalie’s mention. Then Cullen realizes her implications. "I thought all Friends were like that?”

“And Hawke thought all Templars were like you. Thing is, you’re both so wrong it ain’t even funny.” Bitterness leaks from her lips. “The Blight fucked with your head enough to turn you into Mister ‘Mages Aren’t People.’ Don’t get me wrong, I’ve met many Templars who were right pricks, but not to that extent.” She sighs. “Rosa’s Friendship with Red Jenny was no different, really. The Blight took a nice girl, fucked her up real bad, and then reshaped her into the bloodthirsty bitch I met.”

Silence overcomes the gate as Sera’s explanation sinks in. Templars had doctrine, set rules to follow that prevented Cullen from committing acts that his younger self once approved of. From what he knew of Red Jenny, her Friends did not have that kind of barrier. There were no regulations or leaders to punish those who crossed the line.

“Sera.” He says. “I want to know more.”

“We were partners.” Her tone wilts to its somberest yet. “I knew how to manipulate people. Rosa knew how to get shit done and fast-” The soft voice hitches. “-except when she didn’t.”

“How-”

“I don’t know!” Anger erupts from her lips. “Some jobs, I could never predict which, turned her into a fuckin’ murderer. Fast deaths became slow, digusting torture sessions that almost always ended in a close call with the guards.” She blinks once, twice. “Three times did I have to lodge an arrow into some poor noble’s brain just to keep her from cuttin’ out their still beatin’ hearts."

The horizon Cullen once watched is just a distant memory, now. In its place stands an elven vagabond that he once considered a flight risk. Now, she holds the remnants what the Order robbed him of. "And yet you stayed with her.”

Sera’s blinking will not cease. Sinnowy arms clutch her chest. “Damn right I did.” Ghosts of choked back sobs float out with every syllable. “Until she tried to rip my own heart out by turnin’ herself in."

There is silence, and then there is a breath.

"Thank you, Sera,” Cullen whispers. “for providing her with something I was never given.”

He doesn’t have to specify what that is.

The tears that stain his cape are proof of that.


	4. Chapter 4

After he replies to Leliana, Alistair receives two more letters he never asked for.

_Your Majesty,_

_I am not sure this will make it to your eyes, knowing how many letters your palace must be sent every day, but I pray to the Maker that it does. If that is the case, please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Mia Gales. Before I fell prey to my husband’s charm, however, my last name was Rutherford. You pardoned my younger sister, Rosalie, after she turned herself in._

_As hard as it is to admit, I am grateful for your sparing of my murderous younger sibling._

_In return, I have decided to give you something I know she will not; background. Rosalie has probably mentioned bits of her life since the Blight and all the crimes she committed as a result of her stupid rage. I knew her before then. Though she might think I believe otherwise, Rosalie is more than a criminal._

_She’s my sister._

_Rosa ran away on the day Cullen, her eldest brother, left our family for Templar training. At eight years old, I thought for sure that she would be kidnapped. She came back home that night, though, and she had a friend with her. His name was Riz and he was an Antivan expatriate who lived on the outskirts of Honnleath. In return for rescuing my sister from bandits, he asked our parents for permission to begin training her in hand-to-hand combat as soon as she reached the age of ten. Rosa had been begging him for it since the moment they met, evidently._

_Riz taught her to escape until she turned twelve, to dodge until she turned thirteen, and to fight until the day Honnleath was overrun by darkspawn. She was seventeen and had no skills to her name except the ones Riz had taught her. I was thirty and had a successful tailoring business that, thank the Maker, carried over to our new home in South Reach. It made sense to allow her to stay with me and her older brother, Branson, until she found a less bloody trade._

_I was supposed to watch over her, but other things found a way to distract me from that duty. Branson had lost his right foot during the Blight. My business was booming with needy refugees. I had fallen in love._

_Next thing I know, there are sacks of sovereigns sitting on my desk that I don’t remember being paid and Rosa keeps bringing home this raunchy little elf girl. I should have questioned it before the truth came about two years ago. You know the rest. I kicked her out and I will never regret that decision._

_Still, I am glad that Rosa is alive and well. If it is not too much to ask of you, could you tell her how proud I am of her decision to atone for her sins?_

_Maker be with you,_

_Mia Gales_

* * *

 

Handing the letter to Rosalie after she has spent hours sparring with Alistair’s troops only seems like a risky idea after she begins reading it. To his surprise, however, she lets out a small chuckle.

“Well, she’s not wrong.” The smile that stretches across her face is as genuine as her scowls usually are. Bandaged fingers rub what appears to be a tear from her eye. “Still the high maintenance bitch I always knew her to be, but at least she’s honest.”

* * *

 

The next letter he gives her isn’t a letter at all, just a jug labeled “Rosa's Ale, a Rutherford Brewery specialty.”

Rosalie does not hesitate to take a long swig of the stuff before offering it to Alistair. “My brother can’t run, but he can turn horseshit into something you can get drunk off of.” Her gift does not smell too far from the exaggeration. “Just try it.”

When he wakes up the next morning, the first thing he says to the servant who greets him is “Tell Rosalie that it was her brother who should have turned himself in,” before giving the poor girl something to clean up.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Alistair does not see Rosalie's face when he first sees what she can do to would-be assassins.

  
He sees her brother’s.

  
After everything that happened in Kinloch Hold, he had hoped that such a small image had faded completely away from his memory. Yet, when Alistair looks into the eyes of his emotionally distant guardian, he sees a euphoria that is only recognizable because of his inability to let an old friend go. He remembers watching Cullen through a barely open door, like a child trying to understand the adult world.

  
_“Thank you.” He rasps to another Templar before downing the bottle of blue, shimmering liquid. Alistair knows how addicting lyrium is from conversations had with superiors during training, but it has only been two weeks since the Circle was taken. Two weeks, and yet Cullen is chugging the potion as if it was the only thing keeping him alive._

  
_The empty flask shatters against the floor. His muscles relax. A smile spreads across his slack face._

  
Rosalie opens her eyes.

  
Her victim falls to the floor. His broken neck lolls to the side.

  
Then it hits, and she becomes more than her blood.

  
Eyes widen when they meet Alistair’s. Within seconds, the dreamy smile is hidden by fingers clasped over her mouth. “Maker.” She breathes, pressing herself against the wall as if it were the only thing keeping her upright. “This-“ Curls mask what he knows is a grimace or a scowl just from the way she begins to hyperventilate. She sinks.“-I thought I had moved on. I thought I was rid of this, this addiction.” Sobs tear across every syllable. “No, it’s still with me. It wasn’t Red Jenny, it was-“

  
“Rosalie.”

  
“It was me!” Her cry echoes across the corridor.

  
“Rosalie!”

  
“What?”

  
As much as the corpse sickens him, Alistair kneels beside her. Corpses can be cleaned up. Emotions, he knows from experience, are dirtier than a Witch of The Wilds. Calloused, meaty hands clasp an equally weathered but slightly smaller one. Through her veil of loose hair, he can see the red already beginning to encircle her eyes. 

  
“It just felt so good-“ She inhales sharply. “-at the time.”

* * *

  
Across Fereldan, a bottle is hurled from the battlements of Skyhold. The hand that threw it curls into a fist before being slammed into stone wall. Its opposite clutches a tarnished, gold coin.

  
“Why did you take their memories away from me?” Cullen forces out, refusing to allow his chest to give into the sobs that pound at it. Tears tease at the edge of his vision. “Why did I let you?”

  
As if to answer his pleading, a withdrawal-driven headache ease its way into his skull.

  
_Because it felt so good-_ That voice, his voice, whispers. _-at the time._

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important Note: World of Thedas V2's previews came out several days ago and, with them, the canon names for Cullen's siblings. Because I get a lot of inspiration from names, the canon will be used from now on.

The night after he sees Rosalie’s post-kill breakdown, Alistair finds himself standing with her on one of the palace’s balconies. She has pushed back her veil of curls with a red scarf. Regardless of whether it was on purpose or not, he’s grateful for a view of Cullen’s sister that he has not yet seen. Pale slashes peek through where her hair is thinnest and cut through the wrinkles in her forehead. Her nose has been broken once, maybe twice from the way it curves near the bridge. A gold ring that hugs her right earlobe glints in the starlight.

And yet, in seeing her entire face, Alistair also sees a world that once was. Behind the scars, there is still a girl who once spent her free time practicing her knife throwing on pests that would feast on her family’s crops. There is still a young woman who prays for the safety of her kin. There is still a refugee who just wants to help, even if the only way she knows how is through bloodshe-

 “I want to apologize,” She breaks the silence that has lingered on the balcony since one of his servants sent him there. “-for losing control of my emotions yesterday. A King should not have to bear the burdens of a woman he owes nothing to.” The glare Rosalie sends Alistair is a barrier against any protest he could have thought of. “I also have a proposition to make.”

“I’m listening.”

“When I was friends with Red Jenny, I could always count on there being time to think.” Rosalie explains. “It usually took two days to plan out a routine operation, maybe three if my partner had a bad idea that I couldn’t convince her to drop.” When she mentions that third party, Rosalie’s fingers find the earring. “Y’know that saying, absence makes the heart grow fonder?” He nodded. “That’s how I felt about work. There was always a two or three day gap between operations and that was more than enough time for me to miss it.”

“I hope you’re not suggesting we hire more assassins to come after me.”

“If only.” Her tired eyes seem to twinkle at the thought. “I’ve come to the conclusion that turning bloodshed into less of an occasion and more of a chore would help calm whatever addiction I have to it. Lucky for me, Fereldan does not lack in its share of conflict right now.”

Just the mention of conflict reminds Alistair of the hours he has spent at the war table trying to make sense of rogue Templar beasts and Imperial zealots. “You want to fight with my army? Against those monsters?”

“Yes.”

Alistair can recall at least ten different reports that made him sick to his stomach. Most involved red lyrium, a crimson reminder of a path he could have taken, and its effects. Some of them, the ones that matter most, described defeat at the hands of both groups. He groans. “You do realize how different these monsters are from nobles, right?”

 “South Reach is to your kingdom as Kirkwall is to Thedas, a refugee-filled pit of chaos that likes to pretend it is otherwise.” She says. “You would be surprised how many paranoid slavetraders would rather sail all the way down to Gwaren, march their goods through the Brecilian Forest, and do business in South Reach than risk being caught in Denerim or one of the coastal cities.”

“And you have stopped them?”

“Not alone, no, but I won’t be alone if I’m with your army. Once they’re focused on another assailant, mages are as squishy as nobles.”

Alistair could gag at the word she uses to describe how easy someone is to kill, but he does not. “What about Red Templars? Think you can take on someone that isn’t as ‘squishy’?”

A scowl mars her once placid expression. Darkness fills her eyes. “I’ll make do.”

He has seen that look before in someone who means much more to him. Nimue Amell, a woman whose titles are as frivolous as they are many, once stood where the youngest Rutherford stands now. She wore the same, cracked mask of confidence to hide her insecurity about her quest to find a cure for the Calling. Alistair had pretended it had provided more comfort than it had. He does not make the same mistake, again.

“Right, and how do you suppose I’m going to explain your untimely death to-“

“The same way you were supposed to when I was executed.”

It hits him. Hard.

Nimue left because she had to. Rosalie is not. “You don’t care if-“ She shakes her head. “Then what?”

“I do not wish to die, I wish to atone.” The venom from before is gone and, in its place, reality. Her guard still stands, but desperation still leaks from it like a poorly built dam. “If I am to die in the process, then so be it.”

 “I’m sure this ‘partner’ of yours would be happy to hear that.” Alistair can taste the venom on his tongue and, as soon as it hits her, so can Rosalie.

“She’s seen it happen once before.” Her jaw is clenched. Steely eyes make a half-hearted attempt at piercing into him but give up only seconds later. Fingertips find that ring again. “I left her to turn myself in.”

“Did she give you that ring?”

 She shakes her head. “Hers is identical to mine, only through the other ear. Did it on a whim, but it became a sort of promise to always have each other’s backs.” Rosalie swallows. “A promise I broke.” The barrier falls, but she still protests when Alistair tries to speak. “Do not let it worry you, my king. I am sure that the Inquisition, her new place of work, has kept her plenty busy enough to forget about a brute like me.”

“Did you-“

“Almost.” Her eyes become shinier with every rapid blink. “She deserved better than my angry, broken self, anyway.“

In that moment, King Alistair of Ferelden has no quips. The woman standing before him is trying to run away from her past and yet, there are still bits and pieces of her that have not yet let go. Preventing her from leaving would stunt her progress, but there is something about that earring she wears that lights a frustrated fire within Alistair’s mind.

“And yet, you still wear it.” She does not block the venom he tastes on his tongue. Red darkens the skin around cheeks that she can hide no longer; his answer. “Would you take that ring out if it was the only thing keeping you from fighting cultists and mad Templars?”

Hazel eyes widen into saucers, but her mouth does not even twitch. Seconds, maybe minutes pass under the night sky. A single tear falls down her left cheek. It leaves a single streak, a single remnant of evidence that Rosalie Rutherford was in distress.

“Yes.”

* * *

 

“Yes?” Cullen looks up from the stack of letters on his desk and sees someone who rarely sets foot in his office. Her expression is a mix of emotions that he wishes he did not recognize so fast. Fury and sorrow paint a picture she has shown him so many times before. Small, calloused hands clutch something he cannot see. “Sera.”

A chain falls upon his desk. Its pendant is a small, gold ring.

“She thought this would hurt me." Her voice is clouded with repressed energy. “Too bad there’s another Rutherford in my life, now, and he's just as good of a person.”

The light hits Sera’s own ring, which hugs her left lobe, as she leaves.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
